


The one with the enchanted dildo

by CatLovePower



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fisting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dildos, F/M, M/M, Magic, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower
Summary: Jaskier's sexcapades lead to quite a problematic situation, but thankfully, Geralt is here to help. What's a little fisting between friends, right?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 303





	The one with the enchanted dildo

Jaskier took a lot of people to his bed – or invited himself into a lot of people’s beds. He loved them all, and respected their boundaries. So it wasn’t often that he found someone bold enough and willing to experiment. Oh, sure, most married women said they were (bold and willing to experiment), but usually anything more than letting their husband rut into them and fall asleep after two minutes was new and wild to them.

Sometimes, a woman would be open to discussion, curious and bright eyed. Jaskier would explain, he would show them the leather straps and the fake phallus made of enchanted glass, but they just didn’t get the appeal.

“And you want it up your butt?” they’d say. “But why? Won’t it hurt? Are you a bugger?” they’d ask, narrowing their eyes and wrinkling their noses. Jaskier would laugh it off then, and say he was a lot of things, and tonight he was all theirs. Then either they pretended to forget the bold proposition, or they kicked Jaskier out.

Geralt didn’t know the full details, but he always snickered when Jaskier came back to their room at the inn with blue balls, ranting about narrow-minded people. It was just something Jaskier did – fuck around and come back to the witcher, who did nothing to help. Sad wanks in the dark weren’t Jaskier’s idea of a good time. 

And on some rare occasions, he found a woman who was kinky at heart and open to his arguments; one that was fierce and brash and who got that glint in her eye when he said words like “domination” and “role reversal”. It wasn’t about pain, he explained, but rather about trust, and exploring the boundaries of pleasure.

*

The woman curled up next to him right now is brave enough to laugh at his face and ask why he didn’t ask the witcher to fuck him in the ass instead. Jaskier feels the tip of his ears become red with an embarrassment he wasn’t familiar with. Why, indeed, he nodded, and eluded the question. Either Geralt wasn’t interested, or he just couldn’t take a thousand hints thrown at him over a decade. 

“So, are you in or not?” he asks her, as she plays with the straps on the bed. It’s a nice contraption, designed by a leather worker back in Oxenfurt. 

“Why not,” she says with a smile. 

The whole thing is rather quick to set up, and soon Suzanna’s soft thighs are framing a pleasantly polished dildo, standing proudly like a half mast cock. Jaskier runs his fingers along the shaft – the glass is smooth and translucent, a bit too cold – and Suzanna giggles slightly, as the base rests on her clit.

Jaskier sucks on it to warm it, and he feels Suzanna’s brown eyes on the back of his head. He wishes she would run her fingers through his hair, or maybe hold his head in place, but she just watches, fascinated and hopefully not too off-put.

Then he fingers himself slowly, as he fondles her breasts, and tries to imagine it’s someone else’s hand down there, working the muscles until they’re relaxed enough. It’s never the same to do it yourself, and to let someone take control. Oh, he’s laid with men, of course – no one, no matter their gender, is immune to his charms, he likes to think – but it was never good enough. Those men were not tender and loving, they were not giggling softly with awe in their eyes, as they watched two of his fingers disappear into his ass.

He lays on the bed, splayed for Suzanna to take. She scoots forward, eager to please, and guides the dildo with a careful hand. It’s not that large, and very smooth, so it’s never hard to take it whole, and soon it rests snugly inside. He grips Suzanna’s hipbone, stilling her until he gets used to the stretch.

“You can move,” he says after a few seconds.

She kisses him, complying with tiny, hesitant moves at first. There is something truly magnificent in a beautiful woman snapping her hips forward, giving him what no woman should be able to give. He can’t wait for her to find out what the dildo is truly capable of; for now it is just a solid shape, but soon it’ll become a glorious thing, vibrating in sync with them, powered by magic. 

But sadly, they never reach that part. The door flings open and Suzanna screams, her fake cock still in him. They’re not even in her own room – Jaskier is not stupid and he is starting to get better at hiding from jealous lovers – and yet three people barge in, looking at them with clenched fists and murderous eyes.

Time to bolt, Jaskier thinks, and he tries to wiggle back on the bed, raising a placating hand as the youngest, probably Suzanna’s brother, or maybe her fiancé, grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her back, flinging her off the bed.

Everyone starts yelling, Suzanna about freedom and privacy, and the others about debauchery and wicked ways. And all Jaskier can think is that the dildo didn’t hurt coming out. And then it dawns on him, as he tries to gather his clothes scattered on the floor – it’s still in. That idiot ripped it from the nice leather harness still around Suzanna’s hips. Jaskier tries not to panic as he gives up trying to find his pants, and opens the window to escape.

He jumps, wondering if one could die from having their insides ripped apart by a dildo jolting around. He lands on his feet and starts running – well, walking as fast as he can considering – towards the inn where his own room is. It’s a good thing night has already fallen, and he is able to slip inside unnoticed, ass in the air and panting hard.

*

He’s half naked, standing in the middle of his room, wildly looking around for a solution to his current problem and finding none, as his thoughts turn panicked and confused. Oh, this is not good, he thinks, and he clenches as the dildo is vibrating like crazy, seemingly attuned to his heartbeat, and pushing against his prostate. 

He tried bending over and he tried pushing. He even contorted himself to try and reach it, but his fingers, as slender and agile as they are from years of playing the lute, are apparently not enough to get a good grip on the lost dildo.

The door opens, and Jaskier grabs a bed sheet to cover his raging erection. “Bollocks,” he mutters. Great, now Geralt is back early.

The witcher eyes him, squinting, trying to decide what’s wrong. Jaskier hopes the legends about witchers’ senses aren’t true, because the room must reek of arousal and fear right now.

“What did you do?” Geralt asks tiredly, gently even. As if Jaskier getting in trouble because of his cock is a fact of life he has come to accept, and he is not even surprised anymore.

“What makes you think it’s my fault!” Jaskier protests, as a reflex. He doesn’t let go of the sheet, but he’s sure it leaves nothing to imagination.

Geralt doesn’t even reply, and starts taking off his armor, as if nothing was wrong.

“I have a dildo stuck in my ass,” Jaskier says, his face probably red as a beet.

Geralt huffs a very tired sigh, and Jaskier is half expecting him to either shout or send him away, maybe even both. Instead, the witcher takes off his arm plates and starts rolling up his sleeves.

“Uh,” Jaskier says dumbly, eyeing Geralt’s large hands as he washes them in the basin, before wiggling his fingers in the air. 

“Let’s get on with it,” he says, and he lightly pushes Jaskier backward on the bed.

Jaskier yelps and squirms on his elbows, because the change of position made the dildo shift inside of him and it’s too much all of a sudden. He gets a rush of blood to his cock, and he knows for sure his face is bright red now.

“Don’t you want to know how it happened?” he asks Geralt, who is looking at his chest with an unreadable expression – maybe exasperated fondness, Jaskier hopes.

“Would it change anything?” Geralt shrugs. “And knowing you, you’ll write a ballad about it soon enough.” 

Jaskier wants to protest, because he’s pretty sure he won’t sing about that specific experience, this is humiliating enough, but then the bed dips under Geralt’s knee, and he forgets what he was about to say. 

“You’re enjoying it,” Geralt remarks, and Jaskier is about to vehemently deny it, but then he follows Geralt’s gaze to his dick, full mast, red and leaking precome and… 

“It’s vibrating,” Jaskier confesses, like he’s sharing a dirty secret, and the thought of Geralt knowing sends a shot through his whole body, like magic lightning. “It was a present,” he huffs. “From Yennefer.” She probably meant for him to got fuck himself, but it was a nice present. Enchanted dildos were rare and precious things in Jaskier’s opinion, as even the most basic sex toys were hard to come by. Most people weren’t as accepting as the rogue mage.

“I’m not sure you should hate her or thank her right now,” Geralt says.

“Probably both,” Jaskier says, his voice strained. He lets out a breath. Thinking about the terrifying Yennefer helped him get a grip for a second, and the dildo inside of him stilled, sensing his confusion.

“Have you tried,” Geralt makes a gesture with his hand,” jumping up and down?” 

Jaskier looks at him as if he was crazy. He had been doing just that, running for his life and jumping through windows moments ago, and that’s what got him in this pickle in the first place.

“Alright,” Geralt says, and he bends down to retrieve a small vial – it’s not a potion, Jaskier is sure of it… 

“Oh.” Oil, of course. “I’m not sure this is necessary,” Jaskier protests feebly. “It was pretty slippery when it got in.” It’s the main issue here, as the dildo is too slick to get a good grip on it.

“It’s plenty necessary,” Geralt assures, and he starts coating his fingers, his whole hand really, with the thick oil. It looks obscene, Jaskier thinks, but his body apparently thinks otherwise, because his cocks starts filling again, and the dildo starts vibrating anew. He wonders if Geralt’s hearing is sensitive enough to pick out the faint buzzing sound it’s surely making.

“Ready?” Geralt asks. 

Jaskier is absolutely not panicking, as he tries to see where the fingers are going to go in very soon. “I’m…” he starts. “Are you…”

Geralt’s fingers are cold on his puckered hole, and Jaskier gasps slightly, confused – he shouldn’t be that nervous, and yet… The tip of the index breaches him, and he tenses like a virgin on her wedding night – oof, bad analogy, he thinks, pretty misogynistic to say that women don’t want sex as much as men do and… 

“What?” he asks, because Geralt has stopped, and he is looking at him with a questioning face. Curiosity tinted with worry, maybe. Like he doesn’t know what to make of the whole situation. The dildo has stilled a long time ago, Jaskier realizes distantly, a heavy weight inside, large and foreign.

“You’re too tense,” Geralt says.

“No shit,” Jaskier groans, and he lets his head fall back on the bed. This is stupid, there is now way he can relax right now… 

“Can I help you?” Geralt asks, and it takes a few seconds for Jaskier’s tired brain to catch what he means by that. He gulps and nods, throwing his head back in defeat.

He’s half expecting a hand job, quick and perfunctory, so he gasps when he feels Geralt’s lips on his cock. His breath is hot, and the tongue that suddenly darts and laps at the head makes him shudder. The finger is back, he notes, and the dildo is vibrating, and Geralt’s mouth is bobbing on his cock, and… 

“This isn’t relaxing,” he says, his voice tense. “This is torture.” And so he talks, he doesn’t stop, mostly nonsense, as more fingers join the index. Geralt is licking his shaft now, and Jaskier grips the sheets with both hands to stop himself from bucking. There is no way that is Geralt’s first time with a dick in his mouth, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with that information. It wouldn’t be fair to ask now anyway.

Strands of white hair are tickling his stomach, and Geralt’s hand, the one not currently snaking inside of him, suddenly grips his thigh, forcing him to spread his legs even more. 

This is debauched, he means to say, just as Geralt’s thumb joins the rest of his fingers, tugging uncomfortably at his rim, and it takes all he has not to scream because he is too full, he is going to split open, and Geralt (and Yennefer) will be responsible for his death. He is too young to die – although this is a nice death, speared on a hand so freakishly large he’s not sure how it’s in and why he agreed in the first place because surely it is not going to work… 

“Shh. Jaskier, breathe,” Geralt tells him, and Jaskier realizes he had been talking out loud all along. He whines because Geralt’s mouth is not on him anymore, but he’s also glad because the sensations were becoming unbearably too much.

“Alright?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier only has time to draw a breath and wonder what he means, because next thing he knows, Geralt’s hand is slipping inside, the stretch so intense he’s worried he’s going to tear. There is oil everywhere, cool on his overheating skin, and he is thankful for that. Then the wide part of Geralt’s hand is in, and his ass closes on his wrist like a vice. The feeling is so weird that Jaskier doesn’t even know if he’s aroused anymore. He can feel Geralt’s hand, his knuckles brushing his insides, and it is making him lightheaded. He’s not in pain, at least, and the dildo is only faintly vibrating, as if confused by this turn of events.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurts out. Geralt stills, one hand deep inside his ass, and the other splayed on his stomach, as if he can guide himself from the outside. The thought is dizzying, and Jaskier blabbers. “You know, for making you do that.” 

“Would you rather it was someone else?” Geralt asks, a hint of surprise in his voice – he doesn’t sound hurt, Jaskier is sure of it.

He opens his mouth to answer, and stays stuck on a silent “o” shape, unable to form a single word, because Geralt is moving his hand inside of him, wiggling around carefully, and Jaskier is surprised he hasn’t come yet just from that. He’s wondering just how deep that damn dildo decided to go when he knows that Geralt’s fingers brushed it, because he can feel it move. And just. Oh.

“You’re doing great,” Geralt says, but he doesn’t sound sincere. He sounds like he senses he should say something to make Jaskier feel better, but he’s not sure what.

“I want to die,” Jaskier whines, as he can feel arousal taking over shame. Thanks over stimulation, he guesses.

Geralt doesn’t answer. Only then, Jaskier finally dares looking at him; his face is scrunched into a deep frown, concentration and concern evident in his eyes. He shouldn’t look so calm and collected, not when he’s wrist deep into his ass, Jaskier thinks with a hint of hysteria. 

“You’re doing it again,” Geralt remarks. “Breathe.” 

The hand on his stomach strokes, ever so slightly. Only the thumb moves, tangling in the soft, fuzzy hair. Jaskier sighs and lets his head fall back and just accepts his fate. His cock is so hard it hurts, and he hopes Geralt doesn’t expect them to be traveling anytime soon because there is no way he’ll be fit to walk by the morning.

He’s wondering how Geralt even plans on gripping the dildo tightly enough to get it out, but witchers’ strength must also apply to their fingers, because at one point Geralt nods and says, “Got it.”

Great, he’s got it, he says. Now what? Geralt is smiling like he’s proud of himself, and he kisses Jaskier’s pelvis, at the base of his hard cock, his nose burying in the dark, coarse hair. It’s so unexpected and adorable that Jaskier forgets about the whole situation for a second; he forgets to tense when the hand becomes wide again, tugging from the inside out; he forgets about the humiliation, the panic and the discomfort. 

His body, though, doesn’t forget about his erection, and all that arousal building slowly with no way out. He doesn’t want it, any of it, at least not like that, but when the buzzing dildo drags over his prostate on the way out – Geralt wouldn’t do that on purpose, would he? – he comes all over himself, the feeling so strong his toes curl and his head feels empty. 

*

He’s filthy, Jaskier distantly realizes. There is drying oil in his cleft and come on his stomach, and sweat everywhere. The dildo lays abandoned on the bed, still and innocent looking, now that it’s not trying to wreck him from the inside anymore. Somewhere in the distance, Yennefer must be cackling.

“Thanks?” he says, looking at Geralt. The witcher is standing across the room, and Jaskier doesn’t want to know what he’s thinking right now. He can hear water sloshing, of course he must be washing up. “Let’s say that’s what friends do,” Jaskier continues, muttering to himself more than anything else. He wants to claw out of his skin, but he’s too tired and frayed to even move. 

“Shh,” Geralt hushes, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. Something wet and warm lands on his torso, and Jaskier yelps. “Do you want me to…” Geralt trails, and Jaskier takes the rag and starts scrubbing, awkwardly, feeling like a broken puppet.

“I’m good,” he grumbles, and he’s pretty sure Geralt is chuckling, his face turned away from the light to hide it. 

“Do you need anything?” the witcher asks, and he sounds weirdly considerate all of a sudden. 

“Water?” Jaskier says. “A hug?” he tries, because why not. 

Geralt brings him a cup. He takes off his boots and pants, then gets on the bed beside him. He slips under the – quite filthy – covers, and maneuvers Jaskier’s pliant body until he’s nested against him, his back pressed to his torso, ass against his massive thighs. It feels good, and Jaskier is too exhausted to protest or try to wonder what it means. It feels like an apology, and he doesn’t even know what for. 

“’Tis nice,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt nuzzles the unruly hair at the back of his head.

“Should I expect angry people looking for you tomorrow?” Geralt asks in his ear, and Jaskier smiles because he knows him well. 

“I don’t think they saw me well enough.”

“Only your ass as you fled?” Geralt insists, and Jaskier elbows him in the ribs.

They stay silent for a while, as the candle melts in the corner of the room, dimming the light.

“But you’ll protect me, right?” Jaskier asks in a tiny voice. He doesn’t want to ask all the other things that are going through his mind right now. 

“Always,” Geralt says, his voice barely audible, but it still rumbles in his chest, and Jaskier can feel it to his core. Good.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I have no idea what came over me.


End file.
